Poems Are Just Puzzles
by seaflowr
Summary: A Little bit of the Events on Arkanis, because i kind of glossed over that. I guess a little bit of relationship developement


Poems are Just Puzzles

(A/N: Because I thought him learning she liked poems and deciding to share with her his love of puzzles was kind of random. Also, i didnt proof read. Sorry)

On the third day of his mandatory leave of absence, Hux finds her six times before he stops keeping count. The first time, the droid that he vaguely remembers accompanying him on walks in his youth tells him that Miss Kit is in his father's study. He hesitates to follow her there, keeps himself from telling the droid to summon her to him. She is seated at his father's desk, an image that he is somewhat uncomfortable with. It is incongruous with his memories of the space. Her presence makes it almost inviting, but he cannot shake the memories of being pushed in by the droid at his back, commanded to enter by the sharp voice of an inconstant father. The space was forbidden to him, unless summoned.

( _He had stumbled forward, eyes on his shoes because he had been too afraid to look the man in the face. Too afraid to face his punishment_.)

His father had filled the space with himself, with his large body and his suffocating expression. The elder man had sat at the desk, back ramrod straight and face stern. Kit uses the chair as a hammock, legs swinging over one of the arms. It gives her an almost childlike look, Hux smirks at it. She looks up at him, eyes wide and hesitant, and he meets her gaze. She looks back at the book in her lap, giving him no encouragement or condemnation. He isn't sure of what to do with that.

She might be upset with him. He hasn't forgotten last night, hasn't forgotten that he pushed her from the room because one second longer and he might have pushed her onto the bed and done something he would regret. He is certain she did not receive as much satisfaction as he did.

"Did you need something, General?" She asked, not looking up.

"What are you reading?" he asked. Paper books were something of a rarity nowadays. Families kept large, old texts as status symbols. He wonders if she has ever held one in her hands…

"Poems."

"Poems?"

"Yes," she cocks an eyebrow at him. "Poems." The quick glance she gives tells him that she either wants him to make his purpose known or leave.

Initially he had just wanted a distraction. A brief but pleasing way to pass the time, a way to make his time with the idiots more bearable. Now he wants to sit in his father's chair, pull her into his lap, and kiss her. To replace the muddy memories with her. However, Hux is not the sort to seem too eager, not the sort to pounce as if in some desperate fever, so he walks calmly to her and slides into the opposite seat.

"Did you need something, General?" She asks again, this time slightly less annoyed. Maybe his proximity made her nervous, which miffs him a bit. He doesn't want her scared. He doesn't want her to… respond to him in such a way because she fears a reprimand if she does not.

Her eyes flash and he thinks that Kit would never let him do anything to her from fear. Fear would make her lash out, would make her fight against him. He'd seen the footage of her time with Matrius, the twisting limbs and knife at his throat. She was not the sort of girl to be cowed.

Hux stands and comes to her side of the desk and holds out his hand. Kit looks up at him, brow furrowed in a suspicious line, and stands without his aid.

He leans forward, turning her head with two fingers at her chin and pressing a kiss to her lips. "Looks boring."

She shrugs, not nearly as pleased with his attentions as he expected her to be. It somewhat numbs his desire.

The sound of one of his father's cousins calling his name dims it further. He pulls back quickly, running a hand through his hair and walking away without another word.

The second time she is not in his father's study, to his relief. He finds her as he walks to the fresher, an excuse to leave the room for a time. Her footsteps mark her movements down the hall, he waits until she is in his line of sight to come forward and pull her into an embrace.

She places a hand on his chest to push him away.

"What is it?" he asks, not exactly moving away from her but also not trying to suffocate her in a kiss.

"They might see us," she says, glancing over his shoulder at the stairs.

She's right. "Then let's go into one of the rooms."

"Sir, I-" There is the sound of someone coming up the stairs, quick footsteps that has Kit really pushing him away.

"Armie?" The voice is high, though not shrill. Kit listens to the sound and feels herself stiffen. She knows who this is. "Armie, there you are!"

She's beautiful, Kit notices, and eager for the General's attention.

He looks at Kit. "Remember to check on the traps, yes?"

She glares at him for a fraction of a second, then smiles brightly at both of them. "Yes sir." Then she takes her exit and flounces away with a look on her face that leaves Hux wondering if he's handled the situation incorrectly.

The third time Kit is in the kitchen with one of the cleaning droids, checking the mouse traps she helped to put in place the night before. Hux stands there, somewhat awkwardly, and stares at the curve of her back. Resting on her hands and knees to look into the dark corners, Kit unknowingly gives him a lovely look at her bottom.

Now would be a terrible time to touch it, he thinks, but there is a temptation that is only somewhat lessened by the fact that her face is covered in soot and dirt when she emerges from the cupboard. Her reaction to him is neither surprised nor disappointed, she merely glances in his direction while removing a pair of gloves and giving orders to the cleaning droid to leave the space alone for a little while.

"They should show up," she says as the droid makes itself scarce, perhaps not entirely comfortable with being near the General.

Hux removes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes at her chin. She looks somewhat startled, by the suddenness of his movement or maybe by the action itself, but she does not move away from him.

"I've checked the traps," she says, as if he wasn't just there watching her. "Did you need something else, General?"

He hasn't spent much time in the kitchen, though it's one of the rooms not ruined by his father. He could sit her on the table, tilt her back and enjoy her there though he thinks her sitting would only make the height difference worse.

The book is on the table.

"Did you take that from the study?" he asks, feeling a hint of panic at the thought. His father had never let him touch the books, let alone remove one from his private space. She isn't even treating it properly, leaving it open like that, face down on the hard surface, is sure to ruin the binding.

Kit pushes the hair from her forehead and opens her mouth, only to be interrupted by the Imbecilic Whore barging into the room.

"Oh, there you are Armie!" She giggles, moving to grab his arm. "Please, please, you must come be my partner in this game. Father is beating me, but I'm certain that you're smart enough to best even him."

Hux gives her a look of open disdain that she ignores and allows himself to be pulled from the kitchen, from the servants and their work. He doesn't look back.

The fourth time she had just come back from the fresher, he pushes her back in and grabs the soft flesh of her flank because it had been a distracting thought during the trivial game with the intruders. The contact makes her jump, forces her body flush against his, and he lets himself grin this time because it feels like winning when her hands clutch at his shirt.

"Sir, I-"

His mouth is on her throat, feeling the throb of a pulse beneath his lips and one of his hands moves to the space between her thighs. Her hips jerk forward, he has only just managed to move his fingers past layers of fabric to find bare skin becoming wet, when there is a knock on the door. He almost doesn't pull back, maybe would not have if it wasn't for her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away.

It's one if the damned droids, uncertain about some trivial issue that Hux is certain Kit's input is not necessary to solve, but she leaves anyway, leaves him looking like an idiot in mussed clothes.

Her scent is still on his fingers. It's a small victory.

The fifth time she is outside in the gardens (is she hiding?) and he has left the intruders to their midday meal. There is no rain, not at the moment anyway, and she sits on a blanket to guard against the wet dirt and grass.

She is still reading that book.

"Do you like it?" he asks, trying to ignore the pilfering.

At his words she fixes her eyes on him, face turning a shade of red he'd like to see darken. "I love poems," she responds, somewhat nonchalantly.

He doesn't sit down beside her, there is still the dampness to worry about. She sets the book down. "I will put it back before I leave." Something in her tone of voice tells him that she is aware of some minor infraction, but doesn't particularly care. She's trying to divert his annoyance, nothing more.

"Good."

There is a long, painful silence before she puts the book (face down again) on the blanket and stands. She stretches, back cracking as her arms pull towards the sky, then walks to the trees that decorate the grounds.

One glance back and Hux follows.

"What are we doing?" He asks when they finally stop.

She smirks from under the tree, looking up at the branches and the leaves, then finally at him. "We're checking for squirrels."

"Squirrels?"

"Yes." She moves back, pressing herself up against one of the trunks. Hux looks over his shoulder and suddenly understands.

They are hiding. From the house they should not be seen and it would take the intruders some time to check outside. If found, they would have a readymade excuse.

Kit turns from him and begins to climb. "And why are we looking for squirrels?" he asks, eyes on her flank again. It really is quite nice, he's decided, firm and round, and he resists the urge to help her onto one of the limbs with a hand there.

"One of the droids has said that it might not be mice who invaded the kitchen." She grunts with effort, pulling herself up and sitting on one of the sturdier limbs. "So, I'm checking for squirrels."

He tilts his head back to stare at her, gripping the limb with both hands to bend over to peer at his face. Her legs swing, he moves back to avoid the kick.

"I'm not dressed for climbing," he says, admiring her from this new angle.

"I guess you aren't," she casts a critical eye at his civies before bending her back further. "Should I come down?"

"Yes."

He brings up his arms to bracket her hips, dulling the impact when her feet it the ground. She lands in his arms and then his lips are on hers again, pushing her back into the hard bark of the tree.

"Use your tongue," she mutters, tugging at his hair and pulling him closer. Her other hand traces over his chest in lazy motions. He nods, gently parting her lips.

When he starts grinding against her in motions not so different from last night, Kit pushes him away. "Not out here."

Hux casts a flustered look around, "There's no one here."

His hand is on her breast again. She blames the cool, moist air for the sensitivity she feels, for the fact that she nearly keens into his touch. "No one can see us," he says in a way that is meant to be reassuring but really only sounds as if he's not going to stop.

"It'll be messy," she warns, placing her hands on his waist to position him away from her.

"I'm aware," he grunts out, becoming frustrated. He could feel the beginnings of arousal stirring in his stomach. It wasn't too much to handle, but he did not want to be left unsatisfied, knew that it would leave him agitated and distracted.

When he ducks forward to find her lips again, she moves away, ducking under his arm.

"I'll see you later," she calls back, moving to the house. He watches her again, watches the movement of long legs and curl of her hair before following.

The sixth time she lets him open her shirt, lets him see the curve of her breast and stroke his fingers over nearly naked skin (he wants more). There is the sound of footsteps behind him, behind the door and lumbering down the hall, and she pushes him away again.

"I don't think they're looking for me," he hisses, bringing his mouth to her throat. She lets out a noise that almost – almost – makes him do something regrettable (this is becoming too common a thought).

He sucks on the skin, her knees buckle. "You should go back."

Not this time. "Kiss me again."

It's a whisper in her ear and seems to have almost the same effect as his lips on her throat.

She takes his hand in hers, pulling him further into the room. When they are standing nearer to the bed, sheets old and dusty and still tempting. His gaze flickers from her to the bed, wondering if this was an invitation to push her onto it and have his way.

Kit meets his eyes and brings his hand to her mouth. She presses two kisses against his palm and moves past him to the door. He's a little too stunned to respond.

"Another time, General."

After that he doesn't really remember. Sometimes he sought her out, sometimes he simply stumbled upon her presence, but there were many more kisses to follow, many more hidden touches as he avoided the interlopers.

After dinner the Stinking Waste (he thinks the old man is his father's cousin's husband's uncle) wants to play a round of cards. Hux shuffles the deck, deals the cards, and plays seven different games against interchangeable opponents. Each marvel at his skill, though Hux knows enough to know that card games have a great deal of chance involved and would prefer another challenge. Sabacc is at least a little fun, against the Withering Hag (she does have some skill, the old bag), but Hux thinks after a few rounds he would prefer a game of dejarik. When he mentions it a few agree to play, the few also being defeated, and afterwards most lose interest. Hux deals with idle chatter after that, deals with the Imbecilic Harlot playing music at an out of tune piano and frequent attempts by others to tell stories about some made up shared history (' _You loved staying with us that summer, right Armitage? Don't you remember, the singing fish? That wasn't you? Oh, I was sure it was…'_ )

And finally it is time to turn in, time for everyone to separate and entertain themselves in sleep. The Imbecilic Harlot asks, with wide eyes and pouting lips, to be shown to her room (' _Oh dear, the house is just so big, I'm afraid that I've forgotten the way. I don't want to get lost. Will you show me?_ ')

Hux doesn't know which room Kit decided to deposit her in, doesn't even want to pretend to care, so he directs a droid to show her the way. Disappointment is evident in her soft features when she allows herself to be pulled away, but he has other interests now.

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes," she responds, hair still wet from her shower. The sleep clothes she wears are of a poor quality, but she seems content in them.

"Put that down," he says, waving a hand when she begins picking up what the others have left behind. Game pieces and food platters, cups half full with old wine. "The droids will handle it."

"I don't mind-"

"Sit down," he orders, one hand thudding against one of the vacated arm chairs. With the other hand he nurses a drink, small this time, he wants no repeat of last time.

 _You will not leave me this time_ , he thinks, _not because I am drunk_.

She settles into the chair, eyes not leaving him. He bends forward, presses one kiss to her lips before straightening and taking the seat across from her.

"Have you ever played before," Hux asks, shuffling the deck.

Kit stares at the cards. "Which game? Red Rabbit? King of the Castle? Slay?"

He arches a brow. "Sabacc?"

She shakes her head. "Never heard of it."

"That's fine," he takes one last sip from the tumbler before placing it on the end table and looking around again. "Did you want anything? A sweet or some wine?"

"No."

"Then let us begin."

He gave a brief, perfunctory description of the rules and goals and then they are trying to play at his game. She stares at the cards, finds something beautiful both in the ornate deck and in the dramatic names for the cards.

"You want a negative or a positive 23," he reminds her, after also reminding her to hold the cards so he cannot see her hand.

"What's the one with the funny hat called again?"

He sighs. "The Idiot. The Idiot has the funny hat. He has a value of zero." Then, hopefully without her noticing, he tries to look at her cards again because the Idiot is one of the rarest cards in the deck and not one that she should just have in the first round.

She continues to stare at her hand, as if nervous. Or still confused. Hux huffs a little, frowns a little, then leans forward. "The woman in the dress is the queen. Her value is two. Then there's there star. That's, well it's pretty self-explanatory. The value of that one is 10. Flasks are -5 points. Sabers are -one. Coins are three, and staves are four."

"And I need a twenty-three?"

"Yes. If you want to draw another card, you have to throw one down. I can pick it up then, or you can pick up mine when I throw it down.

"And if neither of us get a 23?"

"Whichever one of us get closer wins. Or you might be able to get an Idiots array."

"What's an Idiot's Array?"

"Cards with value zero, two, and three." He takes another sip of his drink and leans forward.

"I don't like math," she says, fingering the edge of a card. There was once a time when she had to keep track of sums for others, it wasn't something she was especially good at and mistakes often earned her bruises.

"Its simple addition," he remarks, earning a sharp glare from her.

He wins two games in rapid succession and she leans in her chair, knees pressed against her chest, in a way that suggest boredom. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, a tell he's picked up on the last few games.

There is a long silence, she stares at her cards with a furrowed brow. She's frustrated and it's a little appealing to look at. "Do you want to make it interesting?"

She puts down one of her cards and picks up another. "What do you mean?"

"A wager."

"A wager?"

"Yes. I win I get something, if you win-"

"I know what a wager is General."

"-then you get something."

"What exactly is it that you want?"

He sits up a little straighter, takes another drink from his tumbler. "When I find you tomorrow…"

"Yes," she prompts.

"I don't want you stopping me because of them."

Her eyes flash and he wonders if he's phrased it incorrectly. "I don't care if they're looking for me. I don't care if we're outside or in the kitchen or in the attic. There's no reason we should have to stop if we don't want to."

"And if I want to stop?"

Their eyes meet. He nods. The matter has been cleared.

"And if I win?"

"What are your terms?"

She ponders this, foot bobbing in the air. "I don't know."

"You'll think of something," he pauses, looking up at her and smirking. "if you win."

Hux arranges his cards, adds them up in his head. His cards add up to 24, a brilliant hand. He takes one moment to smile at her, gloating a little before the final blow, when Kit throws down her cards.

"Is that an Idiot's Array?" he almost gasps, sitting up straighter and staring at the cars she has just laid down on the table.

It is the Idiot (the man with the funny hat), the Queen (in her lovely red dress), and the Coin in all its shining glory. The Idiot is the rarest card, the Queen only slightly more common. The Coin card is one of the most common, it floods the deck with the Staves, the Sabers, and the Flasks.

"That's impossible," he frowns, throwing down his cards and bends forward to pick up hers, holding them closer to his face.

She giggles and he looks up to catch the smile that plays on her lips. "Did you cheat?" He demands, and she only laughs a little harder. "You cheated didn't you?"

"Of course not. But I did win. And now I get something from you." She stands slowly, walks to his side of the table. He allows himself to look over her form, watches her hands as she opens the buttons of her shirt.

"Is this what you want?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and tapping his lap to offer her a seat. She raises a brow.

"It's what we both want. But it's not my prize," she leans forward and kisses his neck, offering him a view of her breast, still bound in the unflattering First Order standard issue underclothes. "I'm not collecting yet."

His hand on the small of her back moves her forward, pulls her flush against him. She pushes her lips against his, feels him move one hand to her breast and the other to her flank.

"What do you want?" He demands again, tangling fingers in the darkness of her hair to pull her head back. It's a bit displeasing, that she's taking so long to voice her desires, as if she's actually weighing different options. This was only meant to be a game.

"I don't know," She responds, voice shaking. "Right now you."

He can take that. For now.

His hands are on her breast, his mouth on the skin he can find, and she strokes his hair. Her hips move on top of him, seeking out the firmness of his body and the sensations that she gave him the night before.

He finishes (she doesn't).

His grip on her tightens this time, holds her closer for minutes after before clearing his throat. It is her signal to remove herself from his lap and stumble back to her chambers. He kisses her one more time though, before walking up the stairs and leaving her for the next day.

Hux wakes up the next morning before dawn breaks and decides there are worse ways to start the day than by finding her. He takes quiet, quick steps down the hall and back down the stairs. Her room is small, even more so because there were so many beds.

She rolls over in bed, her motion jostling the nightstand nearby. He notices something that was not there before, this much he is certain of. It is a cup, one she may have taken from the kitchen, filled with flowers that she must have taken from the garden. They are red and violet, he touches the blooms and doesn't start when she opens her eyes and stares at him.

"Why are you awake?" she asks.

"I wanted to see you," he touches the blanket and gives a gentle tug, an unspoken request.

She shakes her head and rolls over. "Tired. Go back to sleep."

He doesn't, but he doesn't bother her anymore. Later that day she calls him into the kitchen, makes up for pushing him away.

"I want a rematch tonight," he mutters between kisses. "In cards. I don't like losing."

"Somehow I doubt that," she smirks. "Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed. I don't see you losing very often."

"What was that first bit?" he asks, pushing hair from her face and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"A poem. A part of it. I don't remember the rest, something about death on a battlefield."

He isn't sure how he feels about that.

The days that follow aren't too bad, she makes it easier with her presence and cards and kisses and the snide comments she makes about his intruders. And when they are packing their bags, when the guests are all gone, he slips her father's book of poems into a bag to give to her later and a small cup of flowers.

His father doesn't need it (probably won't even see the book's gone) and she smiled rather prettily, eyes wide in surprise, when he handed it to her before kissing her lips and pulling her back into his arms.


End file.
